


someone is learning the colours of all your moods

by apollothyme



Series: lungs constricting, sweetness overwhelming me [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Anal Sex, Crying During Sex, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, M/M, Underwater Sex, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26551399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme
Summary: After the first time Luffy kisses him, they start meeting more often. Mostly late at night, while everyone else is asleep, but sometimes also before breakfast or after lunch or during bath hour, if it’s just the two of them.So essentially whenever Luffy feels like it, really.
Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy/Vinsmoke Sanji
Series: lungs constricting, sweetness overwhelming me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930864
Comments: 14
Kudos: 206





	someone is learning the colours of all your moods

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative summary for this fic was "I get the vibe Sanji is the type who cries every time he has sex" so take that as you will.

> over the silence of my heartbeat  
> your breath comes out so much louder  
> and my voice trembles in the air  
> throat closing, lungs constricting  
> sweetness overwhelming me
> 
> i could drown in sorrow and still love you  
> for you are kind and lovely  
> holy in a way few things are  
> and you touch me as if there is something to be treasured  
> in the beat of my heart, the weight of my soul

It’s rare for Sanji to cry, although he’ll admit he comes close more often than he would like.

Over the years, he’s gotten quite good at holding back his tears, so it’s rare that he shows that type of emotion. It wasn’t long ago that he would have called it a sign of weakness — a deficiency, a mistake, derisive proof that he was a failure after all.

For a long time, crying just made him remember his family. How they would all band together to create a symphony of humiliation, which always ended with the same climax: him, on the floor, bloody and beaten once more. Always him.

But that was before he set sail with the Strawhats and he saw other members of the crew cry, some openly, some a bit more shy, but all still strong and steadfast. All people Sanji loved more than life itself some days. If his fellow crew cried without shame, then crying couldn’t be that bad, no matter what his family had once said.

Still, knowing and actually doing something are two different phenomena, which is why Sanji still clenches his hands into fists when he feels his eyes burn up, pulling in large lungfuls of air until his breathing quiets.

He does this for so long he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, not until the day he breaks.

After the first time Luffy kisses him, they start meeting more often. Mostly late at night, while everyone else is asleep, but sometimes also before breakfast or after lunch or during bath hour, if it’s just the two of them.

So essentially whenever Luffy feels like it, really.

Not that Sanji could complain much. It isn’t... easy, for him to have something he wants. He’s so used to denying himself even dreams, all but a few, that to have one of his deepest and strongest come true is quite a lot to process. More than once, he finds himself pushing Luffy away without realising he’s doing it until it’s too late and Luffy’s sprawled on his back.

Somehow, however, Luffy never seems to mind.

“I know you don’t mean it,” he tells him. They are in the bath together, Luffy on the other side of the tub after Sanji had shoved him away. At least he hadn’t fallen on the floor this time. “It’s just your brain,” and with this he moves closer, until he can tap Sanji’s head with his knuckles. “Is not in sync with your body. Not yet.”

Sanji doesn’t know what to say to that. Luffy’s brand of honesty has always been something mighty. Something holy and terrifying. Whenever he comes face to face with it, he feels whatever barriers he once held up crumble just a little more.

“Well, I’m still sorry,” he says. It seems even when he gets what he wants he still manages to mess it up, all of him awkward and rough and not meant for love, _not meant for anything good_ —

“You can make it up to me,” Luffy replies, his voice so close it warms Sanji’s skin. 

Sanji is suddenly aware of how close they are. With Luffy hovering above his lap, there’s less than a breath’s worth of space between them. For Luffy’s sake, the bathtub is only half full, the water line ending beneath the top of their thighs, which means that there’s nothing between them, really, and Sanji’s pretty sure he might have an aneurism if he looks down.

“How?” he asks, his voice not his own, his tone deeper than he remembers it ever being. He always feels like this when he’s this close to Luffy. Powerful. Intoxicated. Not himself.

“You can start by kissing me,” Luffy says. Sanji is aware that Luffy is not trying to be sultry or sexy, the smile on his face too innocent. He’s just happy and enjoying himself, like it’s that simple.

Sanji does as his captain tells him. He can feel his body relax with every press of their lips together, every shared breath and choked off moan. Luffy’s hands grip his shoulders tight, slippery from the soap and water, while Sanji’s find Luffy’s hips. They kiss with their mouths closed for a while, but it doesn’t take long for Luffy to start nipping at his lips as if he’s hungry and Sanji is the snack he’s been craving.

That can’t genuinely be true — Sanji fed him less than two hours ago — but the thought still lingers, especially when Luffy starts to leave kisses and bites down his jaw, all the way to his neck. The first few are light and full of care, so when the sharp sting of teeth breaks his skin Sanji hisses in surprise.

“Sorry,” Luffy says, sounding not at all apologetic.

At this point, it is impossible not to notice how hard Luffy is, with his cock pressed against Sanji’s lower abs. Sanji himself isn’t in a better state. It’s not the first time they’ve found themselves in this position, but this time it feels different. For starters, they’re not trying to rush or hide from anyone.

It’s been a while since dinner and there’s no reason for someone to come into the bath now. It’s just them, the hot water, and the way Luffy keeps looking at him like he wants to devour him whole and keep him forever.

Or maybe that’s just Sanji projecting, because he would do it if he could. Keep Luffy, that is. He knows the _forever_ bit is already true, has been since the first time he jumped into the ocean to save Luffy.

Wouldn’t it be nice if it went both ways?

But that’s a dangerous thought. Even dwelling on it momentarily makes his heart clench, his chest burn from the inside out.

Luffy hasn’t noticed the shift in Sanji’s mood, not yet, distracted by all the naked skin in front of him. While he’s busy marking Sanji’s neck and shoulders, Sanji decides to get rid of the pain in his chest by pulling Luffy close enough that his ass rubs against his dick. 

Luffy lets out a breathy moan, the kind that’s light and soft and goes straight to Sanji’s dick. “Do you want to do that?” he asks. Simple. Matter of fact. As if they’re discussing what the next meal should be and not taking another giant leap of faith in their relationship.

Sanji has never done _this_ before. It always seemed too much. Too profound, too visceral, too heavily dependent on trust, which for a very long time Sanji had in no one but himself. 

“I—” he starts, but the words don’t come. He feels trapped. Caught. As if he’s breathing in the last oxygen in the room and soon it will all come tumbling down.

“We don’t have to,” Luffy says, nuzzling Sanji’s neck. A kiss, barely even noticeable, is pressed against the corner where his jaw meets his neck.

Before Luffy, Sanji had never experienced a form of intimacy so intense. Hell, he’s starting to reconsider whether he’d ever experienced intimacy at all. Because there’s nothing like this in his memories, nothing this warm and overwhelming, like there’s nothing but them and the stars and the ocean tonight.

“I want to,” Sanji confesses, words rushing out in a fit of dazed bravery. Between Luffy and the steam it’s hard for him to hold onto reality, the world blurring around them.

“Alright. Then, like this,” Luffy says. He drops a hand beneath himself and takes Sanji’s dick, guiding it towards his hole. It’s only when he starts to press in that Sanji realises things are moving far too quickly.

“Wait, wait. We need to stretch. You can’t just— I’ve read up on this, okay?”

Luffy chuckles and leans in for a kiss. “I can stretch. Made out of rubber, remember?”

Well, yes, Sanji does remember that, but the books he’d stolen had been very explicit on the concept of _lube_ and _putting your partner’s pleasure first_ and Sanji wants this to be good more than he wants to breathe.

“But still—” he says, trying to argue even though it’s pointless. Going against Luffy when he’s decided on something is like going against a whole planet.

And then he feels it. His dick going inside. Just the head at first, the pressure so tight Sanji’s grip on Luffy’s hips tightens with it, nails pressing half moons into the skin. He thinks he can’t fit, not like this, no way, but then Luffy’s body opens to him as if it’s been made just for him, and though Sanji knows this is not true — Luffy wasn’t made for anyone but himself, he is unique in a way few others are — it still feels monumental, to be allowed this, to be so connected to another human being.

He’s not sure who starts moving first, if it’s his hips pressing upwards or Luffy rocking down, but soon they are grinding together, their bodies adjusting to each other. Luffy uses Sanji’s shoulders for leverage. He is not careful or wary, losing himself to his pleasure with no hesitation, head thrown back, mouth open to let out the most sinful moans, all of him loud and unabashed.

Sanji presses kisses to Luffy’s nipples, his collarbones and his neck, all of him drawn to Luffy like the ocean to the moon. He finds Luffy’s dick with one of his hands and strokes him to the beat of their thrusts. His grip is light; even when he hears Luffy whine, he can’t bring himself to exercise any harshness, not with his hands and not with his captain.

Teeth scrape his forehead, his ear. His skin, overheated, must be blossoming in pink from all the bites and scratches, and he finds he does not care.

He kisses Luffy open mouthed, their tongues rubbing against each other in a way that is downright filthy, and through it all they keep moving together, their movements sure, Luffy’s weight on his lap real and undeniable.

Sanji knows he’ll never forget this moment, like he’ll never forget so many others. It’s been branded into his brain, searing hot and beautiful, in a way.

He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until Luffy pushes his bangs to the side and kisses one of his eyebrows. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Sanji says, blinking to clear his eyes even as the tears keep falling.

“Do you want to stop?” Luffy asks. Simple. Straight-forward.

Sanji tests out the words in his mouth. Does he want to stop? No, he doesn’t even know why he’s crying. He just feels everything right now, more so than he usually does, every little point of contact burning his skin, but it’s a good kind of burn. Sanji feels good. Strong. Capable.

“No,” he replies. Luffy stares at him for a couple of seconds, probably staring into the depths of his soul with one of the many insane powers he has hiding somewhere. Eventually, Luffy nods as if he’s pleased with what he found, and continues to ride Sanji’s dick like nothing has happened.

In return, Sanji presses his face to Luffy’s neck, kissing the same spot over and over while the tears keep falling. He can’t hold them back, not like this. He, who is normally so in control, every little movement coordinated and planned beforehand, is lost to the world. His breathing is ragged, loud, and his hands shake but do not clench, petting whatever bare skin they find instead.

He can feel when Luffy is about to come by the way his moans get louder, his movements frantic, as if he, too, is losing all control. It’s not until Luffy spills between them that Sanji allows himself to fully let go, pushing even deeper once, twice, and then he’s finished.

Afterwards, they wash each other while standing up, and it’s Luffy who pushes a towel on Sanji’s head, insisting he dry it himself.

Sanji lets himself be cared for, too tired to protest, and he makes his best meat omelette yet the next morning.

It takes a few more weeks after that for Sanji to admit that he’s curious about what the experience would be like if their roles were reversed. They’ve been doing… things together since then, Luffy excited to try out every single position and idea he can come up with.

It is overwhelming to take Luffy, again and again, and to have him take so much pleasure from Sanji’s body. Most of their times together have, at some point or another, resulted in Sanji crying. Not a lot, mind. Just a few stray tears that Luffy kisses away once he spots them.

He never asks if Sanji wants to stop, not since that first time, which Sanji appreciates. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to keep coming to Luffy if every time he had to ask Luffy to please ignore the crying — he doesn’t know why it’s happening, it must be his body, a sign of exhaustion, of pleasure, of something he can’t put into words.

This is all _before_ –– before they switch positions and Sanji finds himself sprawled on bed sheets that are too soft, entirely surrounded by Luffy, and it’s a whole dam breaks loose. Metaphorically, but pretty damn close to literal too.

They are staying in a hotel for the first time in what feels like years but has likely been only a few weeks. Their log pose needs a few days to settle and they’re using the opportunity to get some repairs done on the ship, so Nami’s gotten everyone rooms at a local place.

The hotel is small and quaint. It’s nothing to write home about except for the fact that there is only one room for every two people and somehow Sanji and Luffy have found themselves sharing.

Sanji sometimes wonders if maybe his worries are true, if his crewmates do know about him and Luffy. The thought no longer makes his skin crawl as badly as it once did, but it’s not comfortable either. 

Nevertheless, he cannot complain when Nami gives him a key and Luffy starts to drag him away like he can’t bear holding still for a moment longer. As they’re walking to their room, Sanji notices all the usual details.

The hotel lobby has a few other customers, mostly travellers from the looks of it and no one particularly suspicious. There are no bounty posters tacked to the walls and the owner mentioned there was a restaurant near the garden, at the back. Their room is on the third floor, about six meters from the ground (could jump, might break his ankles, not ideal). The walls are sturdy, brick, probably well insulated. There is a big window by the bed that faces the ocean and another small one in the bathroom.

There is more Sanji could catalogue, specific faces and other exits, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on what he’s seen because as soon they get to their room, Luffy tosses him onto the bed with no preamble whatsoever.

“Oi! I’m a human being, not a sack of potatoes.”

“Sorry,” Luffy says, with all the charm of someone who’s actually very pleased with himself.

Sanji watches as Luffy climbs on top of him and crawls closer, not stopping until they are face to face and he can sit on top of Sanji’s lap. Luffy is not heavy, per se, but the feeling of being pinned down does more for Sanji than he thought possible, making him first tense up and then relax as his brain fills with white noise.

“I want to—” Sanji starts, but doesn’t get to finish his sentence, distracted by the kiss on his neck, sweet and warm. He tries again. “I want to try something else, this time.”

“What?” Luffy asks, voice muffled.

“I want you to be the one to do it,” Sanji says before he spreads open his legs, as if the nervousness in his voice isn’t enough to clarify what he means.

Maybe it isn’t, because Luffy leans down to kiss him on the lips before asking, “You want me to fuck you?”

The shade of red Sanji’s skin turns to could aptly be described as _tomato red, height of summer._

“Don’t say it like that,” he hisses, hiding his face underneath his hands as if that will somehow hide his blush.

“Would you rather I call it _making_ —”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Sanji interrupts him, one leg swinging high and far until he can kick the back of Luffy’s head. He’s pretty sure he would spontaneously combust if Luffy said the word ‘love’ in reference to anything but meat.

“Don’t.” _Not if you don’t mean it_ , he doesn’t add, already too many feelings being brought to the surface. His whole body is trembling. He wants this. He does. Even as he argues with Luffy he feels his legs spread wider, his dick get harder.

“Okay,” Luffy kisses the corner of his mouth. “So what do we need?” he asks.

With Luffy being able to stretch, just spit and pre-come usually does it for both of them, but with Sanji they’ll need to do this properly.

“In my bag,” he says. Luffy reaches for it without even looking back, his arm stretching until he finds the rucksack by the door and brings it back. In the few seconds it takes Sanji to find the little bottle of oil he’d stored earlier, Luffy has divested himself of his shirt, pants and underwear and has already started pulling down Sanji’s slacks.

“At least take off my shoes first,” Sanji complains. Luffy grins and plops down on the floor to do so, removing first the laces and then the shoes and the socks, kissing the bare skin of Sanji’s ankle when he’s done. The rest of Sanji’s clothes are discarded quickly, Luffy’s helpful hands pulling away the fabric as soon as Sanji got most of the buttons undone. 

Soon they’re both not wearing anything, Luffy settled down on top of his hips, eyes roaming each other’s naked bodies. It takes Sanji a couple of seconds to find his voice. “I need to be stretched first. I can do it, if you’d like.”

The bottle of oil is snatched from his hands before he’s even finished speaking. “I want to do it.”

“Okay.” Sanji takes a deep breath. In and out. In and out. He feels an ache deep inside his chest, a lifetime of worries beating inside him. “Okay,” he repeats, closing his eyes.

It is a little easier like this. Luffy is such an overwhelming presence that he can’t be ignored, not even if he can’t be seen. He is loud, unencumbered, and he has this permanent smell of sweat and salt on his skin that Sanji shouldn’t consider damn attractive, and _yet._

He hears a bottle cap open, some liquid being squirted out and then a finger trailing down from his dick to his balls and further down. Sanji’s not sure what he expected. For Luffy to just shove it in, similar to how Sanji had done to him a few weeks prior? But instead Luffy is… not gentle, necessarily, but careful. Taking his time.

“I’m not made out of glass,” Sanji comments, the words leaving his mouth our their own volition.

“I know, but you haven’t done this before and you’re not made out of rubber.” A finger circles his rim, just the barest hint of pressure. Sanji feels exposed and wanted and breathless all at once. 

He’s about to yell at Luffy to just shove it in already when a warm mouth engulfs his dick, taking him straight to the root while a finger enters him. “Fucking hell,” Sanji hisses. His hands leave his face to grip Luffy’s hair and he can’t resist opening his eyes, sure enough that when he looks Luffy will be staring up at him.

“Does it feel good?” He asks. Outside their room, the sun is setting across the room, bathing their room in golden light, and Luffy’s lips shine, the slightest hint of drool slipping out.

“Yes,” Sanji says because for all he might lie to himself, he cannot lie to his captain.

Luffy grins and leans down again, pressing a trail of kisses all the way down Sanji’s chest, lingering in his hip bones and thighs before he puts the head of Sanji’s dick in his mouth and _sucks._

The noise Sanji makes is loud and hungry, unavoidable. He feels another finger join the first one, the two of them stretching his rim. It’s not a comfortable feeling, truth be told, but with Luffy lapping at his dick it’s not exactly uncomfortable either. He’s not sure whether or not he’s going to enjoy it, not if all of it is like this, but he wants to give this to Luffy, so he’ll try either way.

“There’s a spot…” He hears Luffy mumble, speaking directly at Sanji’s dick before he trails off as if lost in thought. 

Sanji doesn’t have time to ask what he means when he feels it. He’d read about this. _Pleasure point_. It’s almost nothing at first, a small stroke of pleasure licks him from the inside out, but he still lets out a gasp of surprise, which is enough for Luffy to know he’s got the right spot. The more he strokes it the more the feeling builds, this brain-melting bliss that has Sanji heated and out of breath, his back arching off the bed, all of him alight.

“Luffy,” he says, or moans, it’s hard to tell which.

“How should I— like this?” He asks as he lines himself up.

Sanji shakes his head, flips around. “Like this,” he whispers, his voice swallowed up by the white sheets he hides his face in.

The few times where’s ever dreamed – imagined – thought about this, he was always on his stomach, his legs spread, all of him exposed. It’s not a position he would trust himself in to anyone else. But he trusts Luffy and he wants this. Wants to be taken. Just like this.

Luffy drapes himself across his back, not cumbersome but present, impossible to ignore. There is another pressure in the room, something heavy that weighs around him from all sides, strong enough that Sanji doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to.

He feels Luffy’s cock hanging between his cheeks, rubbing against him as Luffy’s arm pins his shoulders down. He has a second to think _there’s no way that’s gonna fit_ before he feels Luffy push in, torturously slow. It fits, but it’s not comfortable, and Sanji is so full he thinks he might burst.

“You’re so tight around me,” Luffy says, the words whispered right into Sanji’s right ear.

“You tell me,” Sanji huffs. There’s not much he can do in this position besides wait as Luffy drives his hips back and pushes forward again. This time the motion flows a little smoother, Sanji’s body is already adjusting to the intrusion. 

“I’m gonna make it good, I promise.”

Sanji doesn’t know how to say that this is already good. That having Luffy on top of him, holding him down as their bodies come together is already mind-blowing enough as it is. That all of his body sings with pleasure and exertion and the living breathing realisation that Luffy has changed him for good, in so many ways it’s almost too much for him.

He doesn’t say any of this and he doesn’t need to because Luffy knows. Somehow, he’s able to read Sanji by the line of his spine and the harshness of his breath.

When Luffy starts moving in earnest, Sanji is pretty sure he could die from this. 

“Sanji, I think I— I think I love—”

“Don’t say it,” he hisses because he’s already at the edge like this. Any more and he’s not sure what will be left of him. He's distantly aware of the wetness on the pillows, how he's been crying since they started, just a few stray tears at first and eventually big fat drops that soak his face.

The arm pinning his shoulders down sneaks around his neck and _pulls_ until Sanji has no choice but to go up, settling on his knees with Luffy behind him. Like this, it’s easier for Luffy to reach around and start stroking his dick, which has Sanji done for.

He’s pretty sure he blacks out for a full minute there because by the time he comes to, he’s lying on his side, Luffy is in front of him and there’s come leaking out his ass. The feeling is not as gross as he thought it would be. In fact, Sanji almost likes it in some kind of dirty, possessive way.

“You didn’t let me finish what I was saying,” Luffy says, wiping Sanji's face with his palm.

Sanji crinkles his nose, batting Luffy's hand away. He rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. “You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean.”

“Okay.” He hears Luffy say, quiet for his standards. A few seconds pass where neither of them say anything. Sanji’s beginning to contemplate if he should just go and take a shower when Luffy’s head pops into his line of sight.

“I love you,” Luffy says, too fast for Sanji to shut him down.

“You... You’re…” His words are failing him, every single thought leaving his brain to a symphony of I love you, I love you, _I love you_. “You’re impossible.”

Luffy grins at him and plops back down on the bed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”

A few more seconds pass where Sanji can do little more than breathe and hope he’s not about to meet his end, because right now he sure feels like this is one big conspiracy. Was it even possible for things this good to happen without consequences?

The sun by now has set, bathing their room in soft moonlight. Outside people are moving to and from restaurants and there’s a band playing a soft jazz tune somewhere.

For a very long time, nothing happens except they keep breathing, together.

“I love you too,” he says. It’s the first time he’s said those words to anyone but his mother. He didn’t even say them to Zeff, though he thought them a lot.

“Yeah, I know,” Luffy says like it’s that simple.

Sanji smiles. Maybe it is.


End file.
